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MORPHOLOGY 2000
 AMSTERDAM STUDIES IN THE THEORY AND
HISTORY OF LINGUISTIC SCIENCE
General Editor
E. F. KONRAD KOERNER
(University of Ottawa)

Series IV – CURRENT ISSUES IN LINGUISTIC THEORY

Advisory Editorial Board

Raimo Anttila (Los Angeles); Lyle Campbell (Christchurch, N.Z.)

Sheila Embleton (Toronto); John E. Joseph (Edinburgh)
Manfred Krifka (Berlin); Hans-Heinrich Lieb (Berlin)
E. Wyn Roberts (Vancouver, B.C.); Hans-Jürgen Sasse (Köln)

Volume 218

S. Bendjaballah, W.U. Dressler, O.E. Pfeiffer and M.D. Voeikova (eds)

Morphology 2000.
Selected papers from the 9th Morphology Meeting,
Vienna, 24–28 February 2000.
MORPHOLOGY 2000
SELECTED PAPERS FROM
THE 9TH MORPHOLOGY MEETING,
VIENNA, 24–28 FEBRUARY 2000

Edited by

S. BENDJABALLAH
W.U. DRESSLER
O.E. PFEIFFER
M.D. VOEIKOVA
University of Vienna

JOHN BENJAMINS PUBLISHING COMPANY

AMSTERDAM/PHILADELPHIA
 TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American
8

National Standard for Information Sciences — Permanence of Paper for Printed

Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

International Morphology Meeting (9th : 2000 : Vienna, Austria)
Morphology 2000 : selected papers from the 9th Morphology Meeting, Vienna, 24–28 February
2000 / edited by Sabrina Bendjaballah... [et al.]
p. cm. -- (Amsterdam studies in the theory and history of linguistic science. Series IV, Current
issues in linguistic theory, ISSN 0304-0763 ; v. 218)
1. Grammar, Comparative and general--Morphology--Congresses. I. Bendjaballah, Sabrina. II.
Title.
P241.I58 2001
415--dc21 2001035800
ISBN 90 272 3725 5 (Eur.) / 1 58811 080 X (US) (Hb; alk. paper) CIP
© 2002 – John Benjamins B.V.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other
means, without written permission from the publisher.
John Benjamins Publishing Co. • P.O.Box 36224 • 1020 ME Amsterdam • The Netherlands
John Benjamins North America • P.O.Box 27519 • Philadelphia PA 19118-0519 • USA
 Contents

Introduction 1
Sabrina Bendjaballah, Wolfgang U. Dressler,
Oskar E. Pfeiffer and Maria D. Voeikova
1. The lexical bases of morphological well-formedness 5
Adam Albright
2. On category asymmetries in derivational morphology 17
Mark Baker
3. What you can do with derivational morphology 37
Laurie Bauer
4. How stems and affixes interact: Stem alternants
as morphological signata 49
Andrew Carstairs-McCarthy
5. Adjectival past-participle formation
as an unaccusativity diagnostic in English and in Polish 59
Bożena Cetnarowska
6. Morphophonological alternations: Typology and diachrony 73
Bernard Comrie
7. Morphology, typology, computation 91
Greville G. Corbett, Dunstan Brown and Nicholas Evans
8. On contrastive word-formation semantics:
Degrees of transparency/opacity of German
and Hungarian denominal adjective formation 105
Wolfgang U. Dressler and Mária Ladányi
9. The acquisition of German plurals 117
Hilke Elsen
vi Contents

10. Language-specific effects on the development

of written morphology 129
Steven Gillis and Dorit Ravid
11. Graded semantic and phonological similarity effects in
morphologically complex words 137
Laura M. Gonnerman and Elaine S. Andersen
12. Passive in Arabic and English 149
Peter Hallman
13. Lexical access in Bulgarian perfective vs. imperfective verbs 161
Georgi Jetchev and Pier Marco Bertinetto
14. Inflectional morphemes as syntactic heads 175
Marit Julien
15. The problem of morphological description of verbal forms
ambivalent between finite and nonfinite uses 185
Elena Kalinina
16. ‘‘Anomalies’’ of cross-reference marking: The Alutor case 199
Alexandr E. Kibrik
17. Is there a morphological parser? 213
Gary Libben and Roberto G. de Almeida
18. External and internal causation in morphological change:
Evidence from Italo-Romance dialects 227
Michele Loporcaro
19. Towards a formal concept ‘zero linguistic sign’:
Applications in typology 241
Igor Mel¹čuk
20. ‘‘Constructional’’ and ‘‘structural’’ iconicity of noun vs.
adjective/pronoun markers in the Slavic nominal inflection 259
Thomas Menzel
21. Morphological splits — Iconicity and Optimality 271
Tore Nesset and Hans-Olav Enger
22. Gender inversion in Romance derivatives with -arius 283
Michel Roché
 Contents vii

23. Polysynthetic word formation — Wichita contributions

to the morphology/syntax debate 293
David S. Rood
24. On the mental representation of Russian aspect relations 305
Marina Roussakova, Serguei Sai, Svetlana Bogomolova,
Dmitrij Guerassimov, Tatiana Tangisheva, Natalia Zaika

Language index 313

Subject index 315
Markus A. Pöchtrager
 Introduction

This volume presents selected papers from the Ninth International Morphol-
ogy Meeting held in Vienna, Austria, from the 24th to the 28th of February
2000.1 The meeting continued the series of biennial meetings held alternately
in Austria and Hungary. The meeting consisted of a main section, several
poster sessions and workshops. In the spirit of the meeting, this volume
focuses on the main topic ‘‘comparative morphology’’ (that is, cross-linguistic
analysis, including typology, dialectology and diachrony) and on the minor
topic ‘‘psycholinguistics’’.2
Accordingly we begin our brief characterization of the contributions to this
volume with the general chapter by Carstairs-McCarthy on stem alternation
from the descriptive and explanatory perspective of affix-stem interactions,
whereby the author accounts for allowed and disallowed distribution patterns.
The chapter by Corbett, Brown and Evans argues for the use of computational
methods in typological studies of morphology, with particular emphasis on the
relations between gender and inflectional class. Albright’s chapter shows how
computational modeling can measure gradient morphological well-formedness
in correspondence to frequency measures and ratings by native speakers. In his
contribution on Alutor, Kibrik provides a detailed analysis of cross-reference
marking in this Chukotko-Kamchatkan language. He shows that the whole
system may only be described as a complex interaction of formal rules which go
beyond direct reference to person and number. In her chapter on the syntax-
morphology interface, Julien elaborates on the assumption that inflectional
markers directly represent functional syntactic heads, with specific illustrations
of the order of verb root, tense and aspect markers. The chapter by Kalinina
deals with lack of distinction between predicate forms and NP forms in a
number of languages. Since this concerns rather phrases than just words, the
standard analyses of syncretism of word classes are inadequate. Fixing the
borderline between syntactic and morphological processes is also the main
concern in Rood’s contribution on noun incorporation in Wichita (from the
perspective of other Amerindian languages and of psycholinguistic models).
Mel¹čuk gives a theoretical overview of morphological ‘‘zero signs’’, including
 Morphology 

general principles for their acceptability and a hierarchy of zero-marked

phenomena.
Contrastive morphology is represented by the following three contributions
which find great similarities in typologically divergent languages: Dressler and
Ladányi compare dimensions of morphosemantic opacity in German and
Hungarian. Hallman shows that participle forms have to be decomposed into
an argument-changing process and a category-changing process both in
Lebanese Arabic and in English. Cetnarowska studies adjectival past participle
formation from the point of view of the ‘‘intransitivity split’’ hypothesis in
Polish and in Germanic languages.
Diachrony is covered by four contributions: in probing Welsh mutations
and Italian as well as Maltese initial gemination, Comrie concludes that,
similar to affixation, morphophonological alternations cannot wander from
one morphological context to another. Loporcaro’s chapter is devoted to
explanation in diachronic dialectology and discusses the respective roles of
internal vs. external explanation of language change, drawing his examples
from Southern Italian dialects. Menzel describes the system of case marking of
nouns, pronouns and adjectives in Slavic languages from the point of view of
natural preferences and with special attention to constructional iconicity.
Nesset and Enger elaborate on principles that govern the distribution of
markers in morphological splits and propose an Optimality-Theory account of
their mostly Norwegian (but also Danish and Swedish) cases.
Derivational morphology is the focus of three contributions: Roché deals
with gender assignment in Romance derivatives of the Latin suffix -arius.
Baker provides an account of gaps in derivational patterns within the frame-
work of a theory of lexical categories (based on a small number of discrete,
privative features), whereby his cross-linguistic exemplification starts from
English. Bauer tackles, in his cross-linguistic analysis, the problem of which
major derivational meaning categories recur and which of them are commonly
expressed by the same derivational rule.
The second main topic of psycholinguistics can be divided into several
subtopics: On-line processing is dealt with by several authors: Libben and de
Almeida give an overview on morphological parsing and provide experimental
results which distinguish between pre-lexical and post-lexical parsing. From a
distributed connectionist perspective, Gonnerman and Andersen explain their
experimental findings with semantic, phonological and orthographic factors,
without recourse to an autonomous morphological module. Jetchev and
Bertinetto investigate three Bulgarian verb classes in regard to compositional-
 Introduction 

ity vs. non-compositionality in processing. Their main focus is on morpholog-

ical complexity.
Off-line experiments with Russian adults and children are interpreted by
Roussakova and her coauthors as showing a close connection of the two
members of an ‘‘aspectual pair’’ of verbs in the mental lexicon.
Last not least, two chapters deal exclusively with child language: Gillis and
Ravid contrast, with transversal experiments, the acquisition of written
Hebrew and Dutch whose morphological and orthographic systems diverge
widely. As a consequence learning strategies are language-specific as well, for
example, in regard to the great importance of morphophonology for Hebrew
children as opposed to Flemish children. Elsen’s study of dense longitudinal
diary data concludes that German plurals are acquired by pattern associations
of plural schemata rather than by rule learning.
The psycholinguistic chapters of this volume consistently refer to issues of
grammatical theory. Many contributions on morphological theory consider
psycholinguistic questions. And, on the empirical side, this volume spans a
broader set of languages of the world than any predecessor volume. May this
widening scope and increasing integration of theoretical and empirical
perspectives be a good omen for a new millennium of morphological research!
Sabrina Bendjaballah — Wolfgang U. Dressler —
Oskar E. Pfeiffer — Maria D. Voeikova

Notes

. The organizers would like to thank the Bundesministerium für Wissenschaft und
Verkehr, the Erste Bank, the Magistrat der Stadt Wien, the Österreichische Forschungs-
gemeinschaft, and the Wiener Tourismusverband for their financial support, the University
of Vienna and the Austrian Academy of Sciences for their patronage, and the co-organizer
of the meeting, Dieter Kastovsky, head of the Institute of Translation and Interpreting of
the University of Vienna, for putting the premises at our disposal. Our special thanks are
due to the local and international reviewers of the contributions to this volume.
. The papers by Lluïza Gracia and Miren Azkarate, Alissa Melinger, Sylvain Neuvel and
Rajendra Singh, Martina Penke and Marion Krause, Angela Ralli, Sergej Tatevosov and
Svetlana Toldova are scheduled to appear in Folia Linguistica. The papers of the workshop
‘‘Compound Processing’’ will be guest-edited by Gonia Jarema, Eva Kehayia and Gary
Libben as a separate issue of Folia Linguistica. The papers of the ‘‘Crosslinguistic Project on
Pre- and Protomorphology in Language Acquisition’’ will appear in the volume ‘‘Pre- and
Protomorphology: early phases of morphological development in nouns and verbs’’, edited
by Maria Voeikova and Wolfgang U. Dressler with the publisher Lincom Europa, Munich.
 Chapter 1

The lexical bases of morphological

well-formedness

Adam Albright
University of California, Los Angeles

. Introduction

Not all words, real or novel, are created equal — some sound better than
others, either for phonological or for morphological reasons. That is, well-
formedness is a gradient notion. One simple way to measure gradient well-
formedness is through acceptability ratings. For example, native English
speakers generally agree that there are several conceivable past tenses for the
made-up verb spling, but not all of these competing possibilities are equally
plausible or well-formed:
(1) ‘‘How good is _______ as the past tense of spling?’’

*sploof *?splought ??splang ?splung 0splinged

1 2 3 4 5 6 7
awful pretty bad questionable perfect

Gradient well-formedness has been documented in a number of different

domains, and for a number of different languages. Within morphology, several
studies have shown that novel English irregular past tenses are more acceptable
when they resemble existing irregulars (Bybee and Moder 1983, Bybee and
Slobin 1982, Prasada and Pinker 1993). Ullman (1999) found further that the
acceptability of existing irregular English past tense forms depends on the
behavior of similar verbs in the lexicon. Albright (1999) showed that the
acceptability of both regular and irregular conjugation classes in Italian
depends on similar existing verbs. These are just a few results from a large and
growing body of evidence suggesting that gradient well-formedness is a
product of statistical patterns within the lexicon.
 Adam Albright

A more controversial issue is how exactly gradient well-formedness is

derived from the lexicon. Bybee (1995) argues that the strength of a morpho-
logical pattern is related to its type frequency — that is, the number of words
which take the pattern. In the case of the hypothetical verb spling, we would
look to the English lexicon and find that there are ten other ing~ung verbs,
making the pattern a relatively robust one. Connectionist models, on the other
hand, are influenced by both type and token frequency of similar words. For
a connectionist network, then, splung is a plausible past tense of spling not
only because there are ten other ing ~ung verbs, but because in addition, some
of them are quite common.
Do type and token frequency really both play a role in shaping morpho-
logical well-formedness intuitions? In spite of the intensity of the debate
between proponents of connectionist vs. symbolic models, few studies have
actually taken on this question directly. Bybee (1995) reviews some arguments
that type frequency is the most important consideration. Additional support
for this view comes from the fact that individual high-frequency words do not
seem to improve the productivity of isolated irregular patterns — for example,
English has a high frequency verb say~said, but the novel verb shay could not
have a past tense *shed.
The goal of the current study is to provide a more rigorous comparison of
type and token frequency, through computational modeling of experimentally
obtained morphological well-formedness ratings. It is organized as follows:
first, I will present an assortment of lexical statistics which could plausibly
form the basis of morphological well-formedness ratings. I will then describe
an automated procedure for collecting these statistics from the lexicon, and
producing predicted acceptability ratings. Finally, I will compare the relative
effectiveness of these different statistics in modeling experimentally obtained
acceptability ratings for two different morphological processes: past tense
formation in English, and verbal conjugation class assignment in Italian. For
both of these languages, I will show that a model based on type frequency
provides the closest match to human intuitions, and employing token fre-
quency does not improve the performance of the model.

. Predicting well-formedness from lexical statistics

. An assortment of lexical statistics

What kinds of statistics can be computed from lexicon? Consider, for example,
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preserved), runs thus, “To give this position to Miss M. E.
Zakrzewska is dangerous. She is a prepossessing young lady, and
from coming in contact with so many gentlemen must necessarily
fall in love with some one of them, and thus end her career.” To this,
I have only to reply that I am sorry that I could not have found one
among them that could have made me follow the suggestion.
This objection, however, seemed for a while the most difficult to
be met, for it was well known that, when a student myself, I had
stood on the most friendly terms with my fellow students. And that
they had often taken my part in little disturbances that naturally
came up in an establishment where no one was permitted to enter
or to leave without giving a reason. Even my private patients were
sometimes sent away at the door because I did not know of their
coming and for this reason could not announce to the doorkeeper
the name and residence of those who might possibly call.
That this difficulty was finally conquered, I have to thank the
students themselves. My relation with these young men was of the
pleasantest kind. They never seemed to think that I was not of their
sex, but always treated me like one of themselves. I knew of their
studies and their amusements; yes, even of the mischievous pranks
that they were planning both for college and for social life. They
often made me their confidante in their private affairs, and were
more anxious for my approval or forgiveness than for that of their
relatives. I learned during this time how great is the friendly
influence of a woman even upon fast-living and licentious young
men; and this has done more to convince me of the necessity that
the two sexes should live together from infancy, than all the theories
and arguments that are brought to convince the mass of this fact.
As soon as it became known among the students that my youth
was the new objection, they treated it in such a manner that the
whole thing was transformed into a ridiculous bugbear, growing out
of the imagination of the virtuous opposers.
Nothing now seemed left in the way of my attaining to the
position, when suddenly it dawned upon the mind of some that I
was irreligious, that neither my father nor my mother attended
church, and that, under such circumstances, I could not of course be
a church-goer.
Fortunately, I had complied with the requirements of the law, and
could therefore bring my certificate of confirmation from one of the
Protestant churches. By the advice of Dr. Schmidt, I commenced to
attend church regularly, and continued until a little incident
happened which I must relate here.
One Sunday, just after the sermon was over, I remembered that I
had forgotten to give instructions to the nurse in respect to a patient
and I left the church without waiting for the end of the service. The
next morning, I was summoned to answer to the charge of leaving
the church at an improper time. The inquisitor (who was one of
those who had accused me of irreligion), being vexed that I
contradicted him by going to church regularly, was anxious to make
me confess that I did not care for the service. But I saw through his
policy as well as his hypocrisy, and simply told him the truth, namely,
that I had forgotten important business and therefore thought it
excusable to leave as soon as the sermon was over.
Whether he sought to lure me on to further avowals, I know not;
but whatever was his motive, he asked me in reply whether I
believed that he cared for the humdrum custom of church-going,
and whether I thought him imbecile enough to consider this as
anything more than the means by which to keep the masses in
check, adding that it was the duty of the intelligent to make the
affair respectable by setting the example of going themselves, and
that he only wished me to act on this principle, when all accusations
of irreligion would fall to the ground.
I had always known that this man was not my friend, but when I
heard this, I felt disenchanted with the whole world. I had never
thought him more than a hypocrite, whereas I now found him the
meanest of men both in theory and in practice. I was thoroughly
indignant, the more so, since I felt guilty myself in going to church
simply to please Dr. Schmidt.
 I do not remember what answer I gave, but I know that my
manners and words made it evident that I considered him a villain.
He never forgave me for this, as all his future acts proved to me. For,
in his position of chief director of the hospital, he had it in his power,
more than any one else, to annoy me, and that he did so you will
presently see.
The constant opposition and attendant excitement, together with
the annoyances which my father, as civil officer, had to endure,
made him resolve to present a declaration to the government that I
should never, with his consent, enter the position. He had become so
tired of my efforts to become a public character in my profession
that he suddenly conceived the wish to have me married.
Now, take for a moment into consideration the facts that I was but
twenty-two years of age, full of sanguine enthusiasm for my
vocation, and strong in the friendship of Dr. Schmidt. He had
inspired me with the idea of a career different from the common
routine of domestic life.
My mother, overcoming her repugnance to my entering my
profession, had been my best friend, encouraging me steadily; while
my father, yielding to the troubles that it involved, had become
disgusted with it, and wished me to abandon my career. He was
stern, and would not take back his word. I could do nothing without
his consent; while Dr. Schmidt had finally overcome all difficulties
and had the prospect of victory if my father would but yield.
A few weeks of this life were sufficient to drive one mad, and I am
sure that I was near becoming so. I was resolved to run away from
home or to kill myself, while my father was equally resolved to marry
me to a man whom I had never seen.
Matters finally came to a crisis through the illness of Dr. Schmidt,
whose health failed so rapidly that it was thought dangerous to let
him be longer excited by the fear of not realizing his favorite
scheme. Some of his medical advisers influenced the government to
appeal to my father to withdraw his declaration, which, satisfied with
the honor thus done him, he did on the 1st of May, 1852.
On the 15th of May, I received my legal installment to the position
for which Dr. Schmidt had designed me. The joy that I felt was great
beyond expression. A youthful enthusiast of twenty-two, I stood at
the height of my wishes and expectations. I had obtained what
others could obtain only after the protracted labor of half a lifetime,
and already I saw myself in imagination occupying the place of Dr.
Schmidt’s aspirations—that of a German Lachapelle.
No one who has not passed at the same age through the same
excitement can comprehend the fullness of my rejoicing, which was
not wholly selfish, for I knew that nothing in the world would please
Dr. Schmidt so much as this victory. The wildest joy of an accepted
suitor is a farce compared to my feelings on the morning of that
15th of May. I was reconciled to my bitterest opponents, I could
even have thanked them for their opposition, since it had made the
success so much the sweeter.
Not the slightest feeling of triumph was in my heart; all was
happiness and rejoicing. And it was in this condition of mind and
heart that I put on my bonnet and shawl to carry the good news to
Dr. Schmidt. Without waiting to be announced, I hastened to his
parlor, where I found him sitting with his wife upon the sofa. I did
not walk, but flew, towards them and threw the letter upon the
table, exclaiming, “There is the victory!”
Like a conflagration, my joy spread to Dr. Schmidt as well as to his
wife, who thought that she saw in these tidings a cup of new life for
her husband. I stayed only long enough to accept their
congratulations. Dr. Schmidt told me to be sure to come the next
morning to enter legally upon my duties at his side. He saw that I
needed the open air, and felt that he too must have it to counteract
his joy. I went to tell my father and several friends, and spent the
day in blissful ignorance of the dreadful event that was transpiring.
 The next morning at seven o’clock, I left home to go to my
residence in the hospital. I had not slept during the night; the
youthful fire of enthusiasm burnt too violently to allow me any rest.
The old doorkeeper opened the door for me, and gazed at me
with an air of surprise. “What is the matter?” I asked. “I am
astonished to see you so cheerful,” said he. “Why?” I asked with
astonishment. “Don’t you know that Dr. Schmidt is dead?” was the
answer. Dr. Schmidt dead! I trembled; I staggered; I fell upon a
chair.
The beautiful entrance hall, serving also as a greenhouse during
the winter, filled in every place with flowers and tropical fruit, faded
from my eyes; and in its stead I saw nothing but laughing faces,
distorted with scorn and mockery.
A flood of tears cooled the heat of my brain, and a calmness like
that of death soon took possession of me. I had fallen from the
topmost height of joy and happiness to the profoundest depth of
disappointment and despair. If there was nothing else to prove the
strength of my mind, the endurance of this sudden change would be
sufficient.
I went at once to Dr. Schmidt’s residence in the Hospital Park,
where I met him again, not as I had expected an hour before ready
to go with me to the hospital department which I was henceforth to
superintend, but as a corpse.
After I had left the day before, he had expressed a wish to go into
the open air, his excitement nearly equaling mine. Mrs. Schmidt
ordered the carriage, and they drove to the large park. He talked
constantly and excitedly about the satisfaction he felt in this success
until they arrived, when he wished to get out of the carriage and
walk with his wife. Mrs. Schmidt consented, but they had taken only
a few steps when he sank to the ground, and a gush of blood from
his mouth terminated his existence.
 CHAPTER VIII
Death of Dr. Schmidt opens doors for hosts of office-seekers
and for Marie’s opponents—Hostilities of latter nullified by her
methods, and by her continued professional success with
patients and with both men and women students—After six
months’ struggle with unabated animosities and intrigue, she
resigns her position in the hospital. (Twenty-three years of age:
1852.)

I left Dr. Schmidt’s house, and entered alone into the wards,
where I felt that I was without friendly encouragement and support.
During the three days that intervened before the burial of Dr.
Schmidt, I was hardly conscious of anything, but moved about
mechanically like an automaton.
The next few days were days of confusion, for the death of Dr.
Schmidt had left so many places vacant that some fifty persons were
struggling to obtain some one of his offices. The eagerness, servility
and meanness which these educated men displayed in striving to
conquer their rivals was more than disgusting. The serpents that lie
in wait for their prey are endurable, for we know that it is their
nature to be cunning and relentless; but to see men of intellect and
education sly and snaky, ferocious yet servile to the utmost, makes
one almost believe in total depravity. The most of these men got
what they deserved, namely, nothing. The places were filled
temporarily with others, and everything went on apparently as
before.
My position soon became very disagreeable. I had received my
installment, not because I was wanted by the directors of the
hospital, but because they had been commanded by the government
to accept me, in the hope of thus prolonging the life of Dr. Schmidt.
Young and inexperienced in petty intrigue, I had now to work
without friendly encouragement and appreciation, in an
establishment where three thousand people were constantly at war
about each other’s affairs; with no one about me in whom I had a
special interest, while every one was regretting that the installment
had been given me before Dr. Schmidt’s death which might have
happened just as well from some other excitement. I surveyed the
whole arena, and saw very well that, unless I practiced meanness
and dishonesty as well as the rest, I could not remain there for any
length of time, for scores were ready to calumniate me whenever
there was the least thing to be gained by it.
I was about to commence a new period of life. I had a solid
structure as a foundation, but the superstructure had been built up
in so short a time that a change of wind would suffice to cast it
down. I resolved, therefore, to tear it down myself and to begin to
build another upon the carefully laid basis. I waited only for an
opportunity to manifest my intention. This opportunity soon
presented itself.
Sister Catherine, the deaconess of whom I have spoken, who had
been allowed to attend the School for Midwives after my election,
through the influence of her theological friends upon Dr. Schmidt
(the city magistrates having refused her because I was already the
third accepted pupil), had as yet no position. These friends now
sought to make her the second accoucheuse, I having the first
position, with the additional title of Chief.
This she would not accept. She, the experienced deaconess, who
had been a Florence Nightingale in the typhus epidemic of Silesia,
was unwilling to be under the supervision of a woman who had
nothing to show but a thorough education, and who was besides
eight years younger than herself.
Her refusal made my enemies still more hostile. Why they were so
anxious for her services I can only explain by supposing that the
directors of the hospital wished to annoy Pastor Fliedner, the
originator of the Kaiserswerth Sisterhood. For, in placing Sister
Catherine in this position, they robbed him of one of the very best
nurses that he had ever had in his institution.
 My desire to reconcile the government of the hospital, in order
that I might have peace in my position to pursue my development
and education so as to realize and manifest to the people the truth
of what Dr. Schmidt had affirmed of me, induced me to go to one of
the directors and propose that Sister Catherine should be installed
on equal terms with me, offering to drop the title of Chief and to
consent that the department should be divided into two.
My proposition was accepted nominally, and Sister Catherine was
installed but with a third less salary than I received, while I had to
give the daily reports, etc., and to take the chief responsibility of the
whole. Catherine was quite friendly to me, and I was happy in the
thought that there was now one at least who would stand by me
should any difficulties occur. How much I was mistaken in the human
heart! This pious, sedate woman, towards whom my heart yearned
with friendship, was my greatest enemy, though I did not know it
until after my arrival in America.
A few weeks afterwards, the city petitioned to have a number of
women instructed in the practice of midwifery. These women were
all experienced nurses who had taken the liberty to practice this art
to a greater or less extent from what they had learned of it while
nursing; and to put an end to this unlawful practice, they had been
summoned before an examining committee, and the youngest and
best educated were chosen to be instructed as the law required. Dr.
Müller, the pathologist, was appointed to superintend the theoretical,
and Dr. Ebert, the practical, instruction. Dr. Müller, who never had
given this kind of instruction before, and who was a special friend of
mine, immediately surrendered the whole into my hands; while Dr.
Ebert, whose time was almost wholly absorbed in the department of
the diseases of children, appointed me as his assistant. Both
gentlemen gave me certificates of this when I determined to
emigrate to America.
The marked preference for my wards that had always been shown
by the male students was shared by these women when they came.
Sister Catherine was neither ambitious nor envious, yet she felt that
she was the second in place. Drs. Müller and Ebert never addressed
themselves to her; neither did they impress the nurses and the
servants with the idea that she was anything more than the head
nurse. All these things together made her a spy; and though nothing
happened for which I could be reproved, all that I said and did was
watched and secretly reported.
Under a despotic government, the spy is as necessary as the
corporal. The annoyance of this reporting is that the secrecy exists
only for the one whom it concerns, while the subaltern officers and
servants receive hints that such a person is kept under constant
surveillance.
When it was found that no occasion offered to find fault with me,
our administrative inspector was removed and a surly old corporal
put in his place, with the hint that the government of the hospital
thought that the former inspector did not perform his duty rightly,
since he never reported disturbance in a ward that had formerly
been notorious as being the most disorderly.

[Marie’s method in transforming this ward and consequently its

reputation is evidently described in the “Introduction” written by
Mrs. Dall for these earlier chapters.
In the autumn of 1856, Marie was addressing a physiological
institute in Boston. Mrs. Dall says:

She spoke to them of her experience in the hospital at Berlin,

and showed that the most sinning, suffering woman never
passed beyond the reach of a woman’s sympathy and help.

Mrs. Dall then quotes from the address:

Soon after I entered the hospital [said Marie], the nurses

called me to a ward where sixteen of the most forlorn objects
had begun to fight with each other. The inspector and the
young physician had been called to them, but dared not enter
the mêlée. When I arrived, pillows, chairs, footstools and
vessels had deserted their usual places; and one stout little
woman, with rolling eyes and tangled hair, had lifted a vessel of
slops which she threatened to throw all over me, as she
exclaimed, “Don’t dare to come here, you green young thing!”
I went quietly towards her, saying gently, “Be ashamed, my
dear woman, of your fury.”
Her hands dropped. Seizing me by the shoulder, she
exclaimed, “You don’t mean that you look on me as a woman?”
“How else?” I answered. She retreated to her bed while all
the rest stood in the attitudes into which passion had thrown
them.
“Arrange your beds,” I said; “and in fifteen minutes, let me
return and find everything right.” When I returned, all was as I
had desired, every woman standing at her bedside. The short
woman was missing, but bending on each a friendly glance I
passed through the ward, which never gave me any more
trouble.
When, late at night, I entered my room, it was fragrant with
violets. A green wreath surrounded an old Bible and a little
bouquet rested on it. I did not pause to speculate over this
sentimentality, but threw myself weary upon the bed when a
light tap at the door startled me. The short woman entered and
humbling herself on the floor, since she would not sit in my
presence, entreated to be heard.
“You called me a woman,” she said, “and you pity us. Others
call us by the name the world gives us. You would help us, if
help were possible. All the girls love you and are ashamed
before you; and therefore I hated you—no: I will not hate you
any longer. There was a time when I might have been saved—I,
and Joanna, and Margaret, and Louise. We were not bad. Listen
to me. If you say there is any hope, I will yet be an honest
woman.”
She had had respectable parents; and, when twenty years
old, was deserted by her lover who left her three months
pregnant. Otherwise kind, her family perpetually reproached her
with her disgrace and threatened to send her away. At last, she
fled to Berlin, keeping herself from utter starvation by
needlework. In the hospital to which she went for confinement,
she took the smallpox. When she came out, with her baby in
her arms, her face was covered with red blotches. Not even the
lowest refuge was open to her, her appearance was so frightful.
With her baby dragging at her empty breast, she wandered
through the streets. An old hag took pity on both, and carefully
nursed till health returned, her good humor and native wit made
those about her forget her ugly face. She was in a brothel,
where she soon took the lead. Her child died, and she once
more attempted to earn her living as a seamstress. She was
saved from starvation only by her employer, who received her as
his mistress. Now her luck changed. She suffered all that a
woman could, handled poison and the firebrand. “I thought of
stealing,” she said, “only as an amusement; it was not exciting
enough for a trade.” She found herself in prison, and was
amused to be punished for a trifle, when nobody suspected her
crime. It was horrible to listen to these details; more horrible to
witness her first repentance.
When I thanked her for her violets, she kissed my hands, and
promised to be good.
While she remained in the hospital, I took her as my servant
and trusted everything to her, and when finally discharged she
went out to service. She wished to come with me to America. I
could not bring her, but she followed, and when I was in
Cleveland, inquired for me in New York.]
 The truth was that in my innocence of heart I had been striving to
gain the respect and friendship of my enemies by doing my work
better than any before me had done. To go to bed at night regularly
was a thing unknown to me. Once, I was not undressed for twenty-
one days and nights; superintending and giving instructions on six or
eight confinement cases in every twenty-four hours; lecturing three
hours every afternoon to the class of midwives; giving clinical
lectures to them twice a week for an hour in the morning;
superintending the case of some twenty infants who were
epidemically attacked with purulent ophthalmia; and having,
besides, the general supervision of the whole department.
But all this could not overcome the hostility of my enemies, the
chief cause of which lay in the mortification at having been
vanquished by my appointment.
On the other hand, I was happy in the thought that Mrs. Schmidt
continued to take the same interest in me as before, and was glad to
hear of my partial success. The students, both male and female,
were devoted to me, and manifested their gratitude openly and
frankly. This was the greatest compensation that I received for my
work.
The women wished to show their appreciation by paying me for
the extra labor that I performed in their instruction, not knowing the
fact that I did it simply in order that they might pass an examination
which should again convince the committee that I was in the right
place. I forbade all payment as I had refused it to the male students
when they wished to pay me for their extra instruction on the
manikin. But in a true womanly way, they managed to learn the date
of my birthday, when two or three, instead of attending the lecture,
took possession of my room which they decorated with flowers,
while on the table they displayed presents to the amount of some
hundred and twenty dollars which the fifty-six women of the class
had collected among themselves.
This was, of course, a great surprise to me and really made me
feel sad, for I did not wish for things of this sort. I wished to prove
that unselfishness was the real motive of my work, and thought that
I should finally earn the crown of appreciation from my enemies for
which I was striving. This gift crossed all my plans. I must accept it,
if I would not wound the kindest of hearts, yet I felt that I lost my
game by so doing. I quietly packed everything into a basket and put
it out of sight under the bed, in order that I might not be reminded
of my loss.
Of course, all these things were at once reported. I saw in the
faces of many that something was in agitation, and I waited a
fortnight in constant expectation of its coming. But these people
wished to crush me entirely. They knew well that a blow comes
hardest when least expected, and they therefore kept quiet week
after week until I really began to ask their pardon in my heart for
having done them the wrong to expect them to act meanly about a
thing that was natural and allowable.
In a word, I became quiet and happy again in the performance of
my duties; then suddenly, six weeks after my birthday, I was
summoned to the presence of Director Horn (the same who had
reprimanded me for leaving the church). He received me with a face
as hard and stern as an avenging judge, and asked me whether I
knew that it was against the law to receive any other payment than
that given me by the hospital. Upon my avowing that I did, he went
on to ask how it was then that I had accepted gifts on my birthday.
This question fell upon me like a thunderbolt, for I had never
thought of looking upon these as a payment. If these women had
paid me for the instruction that I gave them beyond that which was
prescribed, they ought each one to have given me the value of the
presents. I told him this in reply and also how disagreeable the
acceptance had been to me and how ready I was to return the
whole at his command, since it had been my desire to prove not only
my capability but my unselfishness in the work.
The man was ashamed—I saw it in his face as he turned it away
from me; yet he saw in me a proof that he had been vanquished in
intrigue, and he was resolved that the occasion should end in my
overthrow.
Much more was said about the presents and their significance,
and I soon ceased to be the humble woman and spoke boldly what I
thought, in defiance of his authority, as I had done at the time of the
religious conversation (by the way, I never attended church again
after that interview).
The end was that I declared my readiness to leave the hospital.
He wished to inflict direct punishment on me and forbade me to
be present at the examination of the class which was to take place
the next day. This was really a hard penalty to which he was forced
for his own sake. For if I had been present, I should have told the
whole affair to men of a nobler stamp who would have opposed, as
they afterwards did, my leaving a place which I filled to their entire
satisfaction.
 CHAPTER IX
She begins private practice—Mrs. Schmidt and many
physicians plan to establish a Maternity Hospital for her—Her
father renews his insistence that she should marry—
Recollections of a report of the Female Medical College of
Pennsylvania, located in Philadelphia, and of Dr. Schmidt’s
comment on it, turn her thoughts to America, and she decides
to emigrate—She receives official acknowledgment of her work
at the Hospital, together with a gift of money—Accompanied by
a younger sister, she arrives in New York. (Twenty-four years of
age: 1852-1853.)

I made my preparations to leave the hospital on the 15th of

November, 1852. What was I to do? I was not made to practice
quietly, as is commonly done; my education and aspirations
demanded more than this. For the time, I could do nothing more
than inform my patients that I intended to practice independently.
My father again wished that I should marry, and I began to ask
myself whether marriage is an institution to relieve parents from
embarrassment. When troubled about the future of a son, parents
are ready to give him to the army; when in fears of the destiny of a
daughter, they induce her to become the slave of the marriage bond.
I never doubted that it was more unendurable and unworthy to be a
wife without love than a soldier without a special calling for that
profession, and I never could think of marriage as the means to
procure a shelter and bread. I had so many schemes in my head
that I would not listen to his words. Among these was especially the
wish to emigrate to America.
The Pennsylvania Female Medical College had sent its first report
to Dr. Schmidt, who had informed me as well as his colleagues of it
and had advocated the justice of such a reform. It was in March,
1852, that he spoke of this, saying to those present, “In America,
women will now become physicians, like the men; this shows that
only in a republic can it be proved that science has no sex.”
This fact recurred to my memory, and I decided to go to America
to join in a work open to womanhood on a larger scale; and for the
next two months, I did nothing but speculate how to carry out my
design of emigration.
I had lived rather expensively and lavishly, without thinking of
laying up any money; and my whole fortune, when I left the Charité,
consisted of sixty dollars.
One thing happened in connection with my leaving the hospital
which I must relate here. Director Horn was required to justify his
conduct to the minister to whom the change had to be reported, and
a committee was appointed to hear the accusation and to pass
judgment upon the affair. As this was done in secrecy and not before
a jury, and as the accuser was a man of high rank, I knew nothing of
it until Christmas Eve when I received a document stating that, “as a
gratification for my services for the benefit of the city of Berlin” in
instructing the class of midwives, a compensation was decreed me
of fifty dollars.
This was a large sum for Berlin, such as was given only on rare
occasions. I was also informed that Director Horn was instructed to
give me, should I ever demand it, a first-class certificate of what my
position had been in the hospital, with the title of Chief attached.
For whatever I had suffered from the injustice of my enemies, I
was now fully recompensed. I inquired who had taken my part so
earnestly against Director Horn as to gain this action, and found that
it was Dr. Müller the pathologist, backed by several other physicians.
Director Horn, it was said, was greatly humiliated by the decision of
Minister von Raumer, who could not see the least justice in his
conduct in this matter, and had I not left the hospital so readily, I
should never have stood so firmly as after this secret trial.
It was done, however, and I confidently told my mother of my
design to emigrate. Between my mother and myself there existed
not merely the strongest relation of maternal and filial love, but also
a professional sympathy and peculiar friendship, which was the
result of two similar minds and hearts, and which made me stand
even nearer to her than as a child I possibly could have done. She
consented with heart and soul, encouraged me in all my plans and
expectations, and asked me at once at what time I would leave.
I next told my father and the rest of the family of my plan. My
third sister (Anna), a beautiful, joyous young girl, exclaimed, “And I
will go with you!” My father, who would not listen to my going alone,
at once consented to our going together. But I thought differently. In
going alone, I risked only my own happiness; in going with her, I
risked hers too, while I should be constantly restricted in my
adventurous undertakings by having her, who knew nothing of the
world save the happiness of a tranquil family life, with me.
The next day I told them that I had changed my mind and should
not go away, but should establish myself in Berlin. Of course, I
received a torrent of gibes on my fickleness, for they did not
understand my feelings in respect to the responsibility that I feared
to take for my younger sister.
I began to establish myself in practice. Mrs. Schmidt, who was
anxious to assist me in my new career, suggested to those
physicians who were my friends the establishment of a private
hospital which should be under my care. She found them strongly in
favor of the plan, and had I not been constantly speculating about
leaving for America, this scheme would have been realized.
But Dr. Schmidt’s words after reading the first report of the
Philadelphia Female Medical College recurred to me again and again.
I had resolved to emigrate, and I took my measures accordingly. I
went secretly to Drs. Müller and Ebert and procured certificates
attesting my position in respect to them in the hospital. I then
obtained the certificate from Director Horn, and I carried them all to
the American Chargé d’Affaires (Theodore S. Fay) to have them
legalized in English, so that they would be of service to me in
America.[2]
 When I told Drs. Ebert and Müller and Mrs. Schmidt of my
intention to emigrate, they pronounced me insane. They thought
that I had the best field of activity open in Berlin and could not
comprehend why I should seek greater freedom of person and of
action.
Little really is known in Berlin about America, and to go there is
considered as great an undertaking as to seek the river Styx in order
to go to Hades. The remark that I heard from almost every quarter
was, “What! you wish to go to the land of barbarism, where they
have negro slavery and where they do not know how to appreciate
talent and genius?”
But this could not prevent me from realizing my plans. I had
idealized the freedom of America and especially the reform of the
position of women, to such an extent that I would not listen to their
arguments. After having been several years in America, very
probably I would think twice before undertaking again to emigrate,
for even the idealized freedom has lost a great deal of its charm
when I consider how much better it could be.
Having put everything in order, I told my father of my conclusion
to leave. He was surprised to hear of it the second time, but I
showed him my papers in readiness for the journey and declared
that I should go as soon as the ship was ready to sail, having a
hundred dollars, just money enough to pay my passage.
He would not give his consent unless my sister Anna accompanied
me, thinking her, I suppose, a counterpoise to any rash undertakings
in which I might engage in a foreign land. If I wished to go,
therefore, I was forced to have her company, of which I should have
been very glad had I not feared the moral care and responsibility.
We decided to go in a fortnight. My father paid her passage and
gave her a hundred dollars in cash, just enough to enable us to
spend a short time in New York, after which he expected either to
send us more money or that we would return; and, in case we did
this, an agreement was made with the shipping merchant that
payment should be made on our arrival in Hamburg.
On the 13th of March, 1853, we left the paternal roof, to which we
should never return. My mother bade us adieu with tears in her
eyes, saying, “Au revoir in America!” She was determined to follow
us.
Here ends my Berlin and European life, and I can assure you that
this was the hardest moment I ever knew. Upon my memory is
forever imprinted the street, the house, the window behind which
my mother stood waving her handkerchief. Not a tear did I suffer to
mount to my eyes in order to make her believe that the departure
was an easy one, but a heart beating convulsively within punished
me for the restraint.
My father and brothers accompanied us to the depot, where the
cars received us for Hamburg. On our arrival there, we found that
the ice had not left the Elbe and that the ship could not sail until the
river was entirely free. So we were forced to remain three weeks in
Hamburg.
We had taken staterooms in the clipper ship Deutschland. Besides
ourselves, there were sixteen passengers in the first cabin, people
good enough in their way, but not sufficiently attractive to induce us
to make their acquaintance. We observed a dead silence as to who
we were, where we were going, or what was the motive of our
emigrating to America. The only person that we ever spoke to was a
Mr. R. from Hamburg, a youth of nineteen, who like ourselves had
left a happy home in order to try his strength in a strange land.
The voyage was of forty-seven days’ duration, excessively stormy
but otherwise very dull, like all voyages of this kind, and had it not
been for the expectations that filled our hearts, we should have died
of ennui. As it was, the days passed slowly, made worse by the
inevitable seasickness of our fellow-passengers, and we longed for
the hour that should bring us in sight of the shores of the New
World.
And now commences my life in America.
 CHAPTER X
First impressions of New York—Marie takes walk alone the
next day—Experience with a white slave agent—Confronted with
her ignorance of the English language, she postpones
proceeding to Philadelphia—Begins housekeeping in a small
apartment with her sister Anna—Astounded by hearing that
“female physicians” have no professional standing in New York,
she puts out a sign and seeks private practice, as she did in
Berlin—While waiting for patients, she builds up a business in
making fancy worsted goods, Anna works for a dressmaker, and
they soon become self-supporting. (Twenty-four years of age:
1853.)

“Dear Marie, best Marie! make haste to come up on deck to see

America! Oh, how pleasant it is to see the green trees again! How
brightly the sun is gilding the land you are seeking—the land of
freedom!”
With such childlike exclamations of delight, my sister Anna burst
into my cabin to hasten my appearance on deck on the morning of
the 22nd of May, 1853. The beautiful child of nineteen summers was
only conscious of a heart overflowing with pleasure at the sight of
the charming landscape that opened before her eyes after a tedious
voyage of forty-seven days upon the ocean.
We had reached the quarantine at Staten Island. The captain, the
old pilot, every one, gazed at her as she danced joyously about the
deck, with a mingled feeling of sadness and curiosity, for our reserve
while on shipboard had surrounded us with a sort of mystery which
none knew how to unravel.
As soon as I had dressed for going on shore and had packed up
the things that we had used on our voyage in order that they might
not be stolen during this time of excitement, I obeyed the last call of
my impatient sister to come at least to see the last rays of sunrise
and went on deck, where I was at once riveted by the beautiful
scene that was spread before my eyes.
It was a warm, glorious day. And the green sloping lawns with
which the white cottages formed such a cheerful contrast; the trees
clad in their first foliage, and suggesting hope by their smiling
blossoms; the placid cows feeding quietly in the fields; the domestic
chickens just visible in the distance; and the friendly barking of a
dog—all seemed to greet me with a first welcome to the shores of
this strange country; while the sun shining brightly from an azure
sky strewn with soft white clouds mellowed the whole landscape,
and so deeply impressed my soul that tears sprang to my eyes and a
feeling rose in my heart that I can call nothing else than devotional,
for it bowed my knees beneath me and forced sounds from my lips
that I could not translate into words for they were mysterious to
myself.
A stranger in a strange wide land, not knowing its habits and
customs, not understanding its people, nor its workings and aims,
yet my mind was not clouded with loneliness. I was happy. Had it
not been my own wish that had made me leave the home of a kind
father and of a mother beloved beyond all earthly beings. I had
succeeded in safely reaching the shores of America. Life was again
open before me.
With these thoughts, I turned from the beautiful landscape and
finding the captain, a noble-hearted sailor, inquired of him how long
it would take us to reach the port of New York. “That is New York,”
said he, pointing to a dark mass of buildings with here and there a
spire towering in the air. “We shall reach there about eight o’clock,
but it is Sunday and you will have to stay on board till to-morrow.”
With this he turned away, calling his men to weigh anchor, as the
physician whose duty it was to inspect the cargo of men, like cattle,
had just left in his boat.
On we went, my sister still dancing and singing for joy; and Mr. R.
and myself sitting somewhat apart, he looking despondently into the
water, and I with my head firmly raised in the air, happy in heart, but
thoughtful in mind and trusting in my inward strength for the future.
I took my breakfast on deck. No one seemed to have any
appetite, and I felt somewhat reproved when I heard some one near
me say, “She seems to have neither head nor heart—see how
tranquilly she can eat at such a time as this!” These words were
spoken by one of the cabin passengers, a young man who was
exceedingly curious to know why I was going to America and had
several times tried to make the rest of the passengers believe that it
must be in consequence of an unhappy love. The poor simpleton! he
thought that women could enter into life only through the tragedy of
a broken heart.
A bell sounded. We were opposite Trinity Church whose bell had
just tolled eight. On our right were masses of brick houses and tall
chimneys surrounded by a forest of masts; on our left were the
romantic shores of New Jersey. Islands and projecting points of land,
clad in the brilliant green of the fresh spring foliage, greeted the
eye; ferryboats, like monstrous white swans, glided to and fro from
the shores; rowboats plied everywhere, the white or red shirts of the
oarsmen giving a bright touch of color to the ever-changing
panorama. Such was the scene which gave us our first impressions
of this new country, seeming to proclaim as its welcome freedom
and hospitality to all newcomers.
This new civilization was utterly different from what we had been
taught about the United States. Indeed, I think many of the
passengers expected to see a half-civilized community who, under a
rather anarchical state of government called a “republic,” did just as
each individual pleased, and who would greet every newcomer with
an enthusiastic joy, inviting him to come and partake of all the good
the country could offer.
Such, or similar, were the vague ideas which many passengers of
the good ship Deutschland entertained no matter whether in the
cabin or steerage. The captain had done his best to rectify these
false expectations but with very little success, I am sure.
 Therefore, the picture that unrolled itself as we approached slowly
from the quarantine to the dock, while arousing the old enthusiasm
that started the emigrants from their homes, brought also a kind of
disappointment—a surprise to see a well-built and well-regulated
“brick-house” city with all the accessories of a large commercial port;
a city, in fact, to all appearances not very much unlike European
cities. But the admiration with which I had gazed upon Staten Island
was gone as I stood before this beautiful scene; the appreciation of
nature was mastered by another feeling, a feeling of activity that
had become my ideal.
I had come here for a purpose—to carry out the plan which a
despotic government and its servile agents had prevented me from
doing in my native city. I had to show to those men who had
opposed me so strongly because I was a woman that, in this land of
liberty, equality and fraternity, I could maintain that position which
they would not permit to me at home. My talents were in an unusual
direction. I was a physician, and, as such, had for years moved in
the most select circles of Berlin. Even my enemies had been forced
to give me the highest testimonials, and these were the only
treasure that I brought to this country, for I had given my last dollar
to the sailor who brought me the first news that land was in sight.
I looked again upon New York, but with a feeling that a great
mystery was lying before my eyes—a feeling that was confirmed by
the men who came off to the ship in small boats speaking a
language that seemed like a chaos of sounds.
Then, though standing before the promised land of freedom and
in spite of all youthful enthusiasm and vigor, a sadness overcame
me, especially one which bordered very closely on homesickness,
even before my foot had been once more planted on terra firma.
As I turned, I saw my sister coming slowly up from the cabin with
a changed air; and I asked her with surprise what was the matter.
“O Marie!” said she, “most of the passengers are called for. Mr. R.’s
brother has just come to take him on shore. He was so glad to see
him (for he thought he was in New Orleans), that I think he will
forget to say good-by. I am afraid that we shall have to stay here all
alone, and——” “Are the Misses Zakrzewska on board?” called a
voice from a little boat by the side of the ship. We looked down in
surprise but did not recognize the man, who spoke as if he were an
acquaintance. The captain answered, “Yes.” Upon which the same
voice said, “Mr. G. requests them to wait; he will be here in a
moment.”
This announcement surprised us the more that it came from a
totally unexpected quarter. An acquaintance of ours, who had
emigrated to New York a few years before and had shortly after
married a Mr. G. had heard from her brother in Berlin of our
departure for America in the ship Deutschland, and these good
people, thinking that they could be of use to us in a new country,
had been watching for its arrival.
No one on board dared ask a question as to who our friends were,
so reserved had we been in regard to our plans. Only the young
man who had accused me of having neither head nor heart said, half
aside, “Ah ha! Now we know the reason why Miss Marie ate her
breakfast so calmly, while her sister danced for joy. They had beaus
who were expecting them.” “Simpleton!” thought I, “must women
always have beaus in order to be calm about the future?”
Mr. G. came on board in a few minutes, bringing us from his wife
an invitation of welcome to her house. I cannot express in words the
emotion awakened in my heart by the really unselfish kindness that
had impelled these people to greet us in this manner; and this was
increased when we reached their very modest dwelling, consisting of
a large shop in which Mr. G. carried on his business of manufacturing
fringes and tassels, one sitting room, a bedroom and a small
kitchen. My strength left me, and my composure dissolved in a flood
of tears. The good people did all that they could to make us feel at
home, and insisted that we should occupy the sitting room until we
had decided what to do further. Of course, I determined that this
should be for as short a time as possible, and that we would
immediately look out for other lodgings. But for the moment,
nothing but pleasure was in our hearts. Questions and answers
concerning friends and relations at home filled every minute, and joy
and thankfulness to be safe and sound on land quickened the heart
beats.
One-half of this first day was spent in talking about home; the
other, in making an excursion to Hoboken. This visit we would gladly
have dispensed with, so exhausted were we by the excitement that
we had passed through since sunrise, but our friends were bent on
entertaining us with stories and sights of the New World, and we
followed them rather reluctantly. I have since been glad that I did
so, for my mind was in a state that rendered it far more impressible
than usual and therefore better fitted to observe much that would
have been lost to me in a less-excited condition.
Here I first saw the type of common German life on Sunday in
America, and I saw enough of it on that one Sunday afternoon to
last a whole lifetime. My friends called on several of their
acquaintances. Everywhere that we went, I noticed two peculiarities
—comparative poverty in the surroundings and apparent
extravagance in the manner of living. For in every house we found
an abundance of wine, beer, cake, meat, salad, etc., although it was
between the hours of meals; and every one was eating, although no
one seemed hungry. At nine o’clock in the evening, the visit was
concluded by going to a hotel, where a rich supper was served up to
us; and at eleven at night we returned home.
My work in America had already commenced. Was it not necessary
for a stranger in a new country to observe life in all its phases before
entering upon it? It seemed so to me, and I had already planned
while on shipboard to spend the first month in observations of this
kind. I had made a fair beginning, and when I saw many repetitions
of this kind of life among my countrymen, I feared that this was
their main purpose in this country and their consolation for the loss
of the entertainments and recreations which their fatherland offered
to them.
 But as soon as I got opportunity to make my observations among
the educated classes, I found my fear ungrounded; and I also found
that the Americans had noticed the impulse for progress and higher
development which animated these Germans. The German mind, so
much honored in Europe for its scientific capacity, for its consistency
regarding principles and for its correct criticism, is not dead here.
But it has to struggle against difficulties too numerous to be detailed
here, and therefore it is that the Americans do not know of its
existence, and the chief obstacle is their different languages. A
Humboldt must remain unknown here unless he chooses to
Americanize himself in every respect—and could he do this without
ceasing to be Humboldt, the cosmopolitan genius?
It would be a great benefit to the development of this country if
the German language were made a branch of education and not
simply an accomplishment. Only then would the Americans
appreciate how much has been done by the Germans to advance
higher development and to diffuse the true principles of freedom. It
would serve both parties to learn how much the Germans aid in
developing the reason and in supporting progress in every direction.
The revolution of 1848 has been more serviceable to America than
to Germany, for it has caused the emigration of thousands of men
who would have been the pride of a free Germany. America has
received the German freemen, whilst Germany has retained the
subjects.
The next morning, I determined to return to the ship to look after
my baggage. As Mr. and Mrs. G. were busy in their shop, there was
no one to accompany me. I therefore had either to wait until they
were at leisure or to go alone. I chose the latter, and took my first
walk in the city of New York on my way to the North River where the
ship was lying. The noise and bustle everywhere about me absorbed
my attention to such a degree that instead of turning to the right, I
went to the left and found myself at the East River, in the
neighborhood of Peck Slip. Here I inquired after the German ship
Deutschland and was directed, in my native tongue, down to the
Battery and thence up to Pier 13, where I found the ship discharging
the rest of her passengers and their baggage. It was eleven o’clock
when I reached the ship; I had, therefore, taken a three hours’ walk.
I had now to wait until the custom-house officer had inspected my
trunk, and afterwards for the arrival of Mr. G., who came at one
o’clock with a cart to convey the baggage to his house.
While standing amidst the crowd, a man in a light suit of clothes
of no positive color and with a complexion of the same sort, came
up to me and asked in German whether I had yet found a boarding-
place. The man’s smooth face instinctively repelled me, yet the
feeling that I was not independently established made me somewhat
indefinite in my reply. On seeing this, he at once grew talkative and
friendly and speaking of the necessity of finding a safe and
comfortable home, said that he could recommend me to a hotel
where I would be treated honestly; or that, if I chose to be in a
private family, he knew of a very kind, motherly lady who kept a
boarding house for ladies alone, not to make money but for the sake
of her countrywomen.
The familiarity that he mingled in his conversation while trying to
be friendly made me thoroughly indignant. I turned my back upon
him, saying that I did not need his services.
It was not long before I saw him besieging my sister Anna, who
had come with Mr. G., being nervous lest I might not have found the
ship. What he said to her, I do not know. I only remember that she
came to me, saying, “I am afraid of that man; I wish that we could
go home soon.”
This meeting with a man who makes friendly offers of service may
seem a small matter to the mere looker-on, but it ceases to be so
when one knows his motives. And since that time, I have had but
too many opportunities to see for what end these offers are made.
Many an educated girl comes from the Old World to find a position
as governess or teacher who is taken up in this manner and is never
heard from again or is found only in the most wretched condition. It
is shameful that the most effective arrangements should not be
made for the safety of these helpless beings who come to these
shores with the hope of finding a Canaan.
To talk with our friends about the future and the cause of my
arrival in New York became now a necessity. So I related how the
information of 1852, concerning a medical school for women, in
Philadelphia, had inspired me to offer my assistance as a practical
instructor and to assist in organizing a hospital.
My good friends not only showed dismay in face and manner as I
proceeded, but they expressed it in words, telling me that they had
never heard of any “female physicians” except those of a very
disreputable character who advertised in all newspapers and carried
on criminal practices.
Confronted with my ignorance of the English language, as I now
realized myself, I postponed starting for the medical school in
Philadelphia, and, having letters of introduction to well-stationed
people in New York, I decided to settle in a two-room home of my
own as soon as this could be found, we having concluded to
commence housekeeping on a small scale in order to be more
independent and to save money.
The week was mostly spent in looking for apartments. On our
arrival, I had borrowed from my sister the hundred dollars which my
father had given her on our departure from Berlin and which was to
be my capital until I had established myself in business. I succeeded
in finding a suite of rooms with windows facing the street, in the
house of a grocer; and having put them in perfect order, we moved
into them on the sixth of June, paying eleven dollars as our rent for
two months in advance.
My sister took charge of our first day’s housekeeping, while I went
to deliver my letters of introduction. I went first to Dr. Reisig, in
Fourteenth Street. My mother, who had employed him when he was
a young man and we were small children, had spoken of him kindly,
and for this reason I had confidence in him. I found him a very
friendly man, but by no means a cordial one.
 He informed me that female physicians in this country were of the
lowest rank and that they did not hold even the position of a good
nurse. He said that he wished to be of service to me if I were willing
to serve as nurse, and as he was just then in need of a good one, he
would recommend me for the position. I thanked him for his candor
and kindness, but refused his offer as I could not condescend to be
patronized in this way.
Depressed in hope but strengthened in will, I did not deliver any
more of my letters, since they were all to physicians and I could not
hope to be more successful in other quarters. I went home,
therefore, determined to commence practice as a stranger.
The result of my experiment discouraged my sister greatly. After
meditating for some time, she suddenly said, “Marie, I read in the
paper this morning of a dressmaker who wanted some one to sew
for her. I know how to sew well; I shall go there, and you can attend
to our little household. No one here knows me, and I do not think
there is anything wrong in my trying to earn some money.”
She was determined, and went. I put up my sign, and spent my
time in attending to the household duties and in reading in order to
gain information of the country and of the people. Occasionally I
took walks through different parts of the city to learn from the
houses and their surroundings the character of life in New York. I am
sure that, though perhaps I appeared idle, I was not so in reality, for
during this time I learned the philosophy of American life.
But our stock of money was becoming less and less. To furnish the
rooms had cost us comparatively little as we had brought a complete
set of household furniture with us, but paying the rent and
completing the arrangements had not left us more than enough to
live upon, in the most economical manner, until the first of August.
My sister obtained the place at the dressmaker’s; and after
working a week from seven in the morning until twelve (when she
came home to dinner), then from one in the afternoon until seven in
the evening, she received two dollars and seventy-five cents as the